Wanna live Underground
by JTheGoblinKing
Summary: A Labyrinth fan fiction inspired by The Underground music video.


Disclaimer: The following is an old Labyrinth fan fiction I wrote for a Labyrinth fan fiction group years ago. Labyrinth belongs to Henson. Most, if not all, of the Labyrinth fan fiction I am going to post here is at least ten years old, if not older. You will see the original dates they were written placed into these documents. These fan fictions predate the canon of Return to Labyrinth.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 1 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:26:39 EST

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Small Notice:

This Labyrinth based fiction contains the character Christine,

first conceived of by Brianna "Aradia" Baccera. The plot of this miner

Labyrinth fan fiction was * Very loosely * based on ideas conceived of in The

America Online Labyrinth role playing game. Other inspirations are from the

original Underground music video and the Look back in Anger music video.

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Wanna live Underground

He cried desperately out in his sleep. His cries broke the near to

total silence of the room. "No! Stop! Please! I don't want to! I never

wanted to! Don't make me go back! No!"

It was the tiny crystal statuette of an owl that fell from off of

one of his many shelves and shattered against the floor that had finally

awoke him from his terrible nightmare.

Jeremy King woke up gasping to try and catch his breath. He sat

up in his bed like a bolt. His heart was pounding within his chest so

rapidly that he thought that it might just explode within him. Beads of

sweat trickled on his forehead. He had been having that horrid nightmare

again about that frightening, strange, wretched place. And there were these

creatures… these nasty, repulsive beastly things… What did it all mean?

Was he going mad? Was he truly losing his mind? Those... those demons,

those trolls… those goblins were haunting him. Drooling, snarling,

cackling, grasping, hideous beasts, they were.

His thick sandy blond hair stood on end. His long bangs brushed

in to his eyes. His left eye was slightly fogged. His right eye saw clearly

already. He blinked a few times as he gradually allowed himself to grow used

to the day light. At first he was not so very sure of where he was but then

he felt secure that he was safe and sound in his own bed. The sun shown

down directly on to him from the sky light window above his bed.

The tiny loft was a cluttered one roomed residence. On shelves

all around the bed along the walls were books of all sorts about fantasies in

far off strange and magical lands, magical spells, dream definition and other

such things like that.

He had a strange fascination with the magick, superstition and the

occult.

He had studied the books on dreams and memorized the reference

guides about dream symbols and their significance since those ghastly dreams

had begun several months ago. The night before the dream had not been so

very terrible. He had dreamt of a bird. He had dreamt of a white barn owl

flying towards him. According to his books on dream definition and symbolism

this meant that there would be a gaining of trust in the near future or so

one of the books on dreams had told him. And he had also seen a great castle

in this dream but it was in a chaotic state with those monstrous creatures,

those goblins running all about. And in the dream they had been bashing up

the furniture in the caste and smashing up all the valuables and antique

draperies. This was an omen of frustration and disappointment for one of

great power. That made almost no sense to him at all, and nearly nothing

complicated and psychologically based had ever eluded him before to his

knowledge. And he had been running from these things within his dream. He

had been running in the dream. In the dream he had been trying desperately

to get away from them. He could remember that within the dream he had been

frantic to get away and to escape. He had been franticly trying to be rid

and free of those goblins only he could not. Such a terrible dream, it was.

That dream probably meant that subconsciously he was trying to escape from

something, now didn't it? But the books on dreams that he had read had told

him nothing of those monsters... those goblins. What did it all mean? And

there was a giant maze…. And a city in complete chaotic disorder… and a

filthy reeking, flatulent bog…. And… And… God, what did it all mean?

He was thirsty. His throat was parched. He felt almost as if he

had been really been running. He collected his wits about him and crawled

out of the sheets and stood on the hard wood floor. For a moment he was

dizzy. He very nearly lost his balance. Poor blood flow? Lack of iron? He

could not afford to see a doctor about these spells of dizziness that he had

also been having, usually right after dreaming of … of that place…

And what a place it was too. It was a surreal other world. It

was a strange and magical realm, strangely alluring, exotic and completely

detached from Earth. It was a fantastical place. And there was the promise

that there nothing would ever hurt again. And maybe that strange emptiness

inside of him- that longing would finally really disappear. And though it

was frightening, and a part of him was repulsed his spirit ached to be there.

He did not know why but he felt that he should be drawn away from that

fantasy place, that he could not possibly be happy there. …But still he

wanted it.

A few steps down from the small tabernacle like area where his bed

and oak dresser stood and the bookshelves lay was the rest of his home. A

tiny waist high refrigerator stood along the far wall next to a microwave

oven and a sink in a small concaved area of the wall. There was a table

meant for dining upon but it was cluttered with jars of paints, some of which

were dried out from carelessly being left open over the night. An unfinished

painting canvas standing on the tripod stand stood in the far corner with the

tins of brushes. Sponges and brushes lay in jars with cups of distilled

water. The painting that stood unfinished was of that strange place that

flashed within his mind nearly regularly now. It was a dimly lit place at

dusk. The giant walls with several twists and turns over lapping seemed

somewhat frightening as he looked at it now. It was a puzzle of some kind.

It was a painting of a place, a trap that no one, not even it's master could

ever really escape from.

An icy chill ran up and down his spine. He whispered under his

breath as if realizing a terrible secret. "The Labyrinth."

He grabbed the old wooden hand railing and walked down the few steps of

the upper area of the room to the lower portion.

He frowned when he saw the tiny shattered thing, the glittering

shards of crystal against the dusty hard wood floor that had once been his

favourite nick-knack, his tiny owl statuette. Ah, well. There was nothing

he could do about it now. The shelving must have been lopsided or faulty.

He could not think as to how it might have fallen on it's own. He would

have to clean up the mess of it later.

He walked over to the yet to be finished painting and examined it

closely. He had meant to add something but he had been too tired before to

do it. He had been up and about until around five AM adding details to this

particular picture until he had been too tired to even hold the brush steady.

What time was it now? He looked up at the round wall clock that hung over

the small dressing mirror by the door. It was Two thirty PM. He had slept

the day away once again as he had worked through the night. He had been

doing that actually quite often lately. It seemed that perhaps instinctively

he was actually a nocturnal creature. He loved the night. He was happiest

at night when the world was still dreaming.

"Always the night owl." He said to himself with a slight smile as

he shook his head. He had a stall at the indoor flea market just blocks

away. He had not sold a painting there in weeks. He could not even afford

detergent to wash out his shirts. He was also the lead vocalist with the

house band of a small, somewhat retro-stylish nightclub on the weekends.

He was still dressed from the day before. He did not bother to

change his clothing. He knew that he was a bit of a scrub. He did not care

at all though. He was happy. He liked his simple, somewhat humble life

style. He did not need to be wealthy or well known. A part of him knew that

he should be happy and yet… and yet something was missing.

As he examined his painting he fancied that maybe he should add over

sized lichen tendrils with bright blue eyeballs at the end of it on the

painting growing right out of the very walls of the great maze in the

picture. As he mused at his own clever surreal imagination the images of his

nightmare came rushing back to him in horrible and precise detail.

He opened the door in to the other small room, the only other

divided room in the attic loft, his home. He turned on the faucet tap and

rinsed off his face. That did not help him all too much. Now he was just

cold and his face was wet and the thoughts of the dream remained. Maybe he

should try and go out for a stroll.

He was already dressed in the clothing that he had been wearing the

day prior. He wore tight jean pants and black leather boots. He liked the

way that felt. He wore a baggy white T-shirt and he placed on his old, worn

leather jacket. The jacket was long. It draped down and caressed his

thighs. He placed on his fashionable leather gloves with the finger slots

roughly cut off. He adjusted the collar of his jacket as he looked at

himself in the mirror.

He teased and spiked up his long blond bangs with the hairbrush

that he usually left upon the sink ledge. He brushed out his thick sandy

blond hair. He looked more like a teenaged biker then a thirty-nine year old

artist. He liked the way he looked though. He smiled to himself despite that

he felt the forming of a cavity in one of his back teeth and he knew that he

could not afford to visit with a proper dentist. He knew that he was a very

handsome man, despite his somewhat ragged and tired appearance.

"No one ever said that artists have to be dull." He said to

himself as he winked at his own very attractive reflection. It was then that

the image in the mirror suddenly under went a startling change. It under

went a very strange metamorphoses. It made a sudden and bizarre

transformation.

He changed or rather the image in the mirror under went an

abrupt change. He was still the same man but the clothing and the

expression… that was not him at all. It just could not have been. The man

in the mirror though holding the same face had a more mischievous quality to

his expression and his eyes seemed brighter. His hair was light, yellow and

long, spiked and feathered. The man in the mirror glass wore a strange cicle

pendent that looked like a triangle with the sides collapsed inward with a

coin in the center of it. He wore an open 'V' necked white, frilled shirt.

He held in his gloved hand a perfectly clear crystal orb as if holding it out

to offer it to Jeremy.

Jeremy gasped and stumbled back. The man in the mirror that

looked frighteningly like himself only fashioned differently dissolved in to

the reflection of himself once again. Jeremy stared at his own reflection

blankly for a while. He blinked his eyes several times and even touched the

cool, reflective glass with his finger tips to see if it were solid still.

He was beginning to doubt his own senses. Was he really losing his mind?

Was he truly going out of his head?

Creative people, artists are usually either genius' or they are

mad men. Jeremy began to suspect that he was the latter of the two.

"I must be going mad." He whispered to himself.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 2 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:27:19 EST

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Jeremy draped a white sheet over the unfinished painting before

shutting the door and walking out in to the cold hallway. He walked quickly

down the long and narrow five flights of stairs to get to the front entrance

of the old building. When he reached the first floor he paused as a wooden

door swung open.

"Good day, Mrs. Hayes." He said with a forced smile as the hard

faced old woman stepped out in to the hall. She was a harsh, cold and

emotionless creature, this woman. A bitter old creature, she was. She wore

an angora bathrobe. Her feet were in a pair of cotton slippers. Her dyed red

hair was up in tiny plastic curlers. Her appearance disgusted Jeremy. She

was at least seventy. She acted as if she had lived one thousand one hundred

and thirty five years.

Her thin, gnarled and arthritic hands rested on her hips. Her

dried out, thin and cracked lips curled in to a sneer as she narrowed her

tiny, pinhole like eyes at him. The expression upon her face only made her

age lines all the more apparent. "The rent's due on Thursday, Jeremy. I

don't wanna hear nuthin' 'bout you bein' tied up for it. Ya had betta pay or

gather up your things and move along out. Ya hear me, boy?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hayes." He said as he walked out the front door and

towards the street, never once really allowing the bitter old woman to

intimidate him as she did the other tenants that lived within the building.

Mrs. Hayes did not like Jeremy. She did not like him one tiny

bit. She did not trust him an inch. He had just appeared there months and

months ago, very nearly a year ago with a hand full of money and asking for a

room to rent to act as his home and art studio. He was too smug. He was far

too self-assured. And he never acknowledged his low status in the social

ladder at all. For a poor, scrubby street rat he was too damned

self-assured. He had no past. He had no real identification and never once

did he speak up about his family to anyone at all. He was a very self

contained man though he was polite to his neighbors when they would greet him

in passing. He just did not act right according to Mrs. Hayes. There was

just something different about him. There was just something odd about him.

He was too peculiar. There was just something about him. He just did not

act right at all. There was just something about him.

Now Jeremy knew that he had to sell something before Thursday.

It was already Tuesday. Tomorrow he would spend the day at the market with

all of his old paintings out on display in his tiny stall. Maybe someone

would be interested, a gallery collector or simply someone wishing for

something to brighten up their home. And if he could not sell one of his art

pieces, one of his paintings he could always sell some of his old books. He

could always take one of his books from out of his personal library and then

sell it to that eccentric young, female poet up the street who collected

books. That strange young girl would pay nearly double what some old first

edition novels were worth to even the most well to do collector.

On weekends Jeremy sang at a local nightclub as the house band's

lead vocalist but that hardly paid for his meals and art supplies any longer.

He was what some might say, just barely surviving within modern society.

And though Jeremy had always believed that it is best to thrive then to

merely survive he felt that in a strange way he was thriving in that he was

living in exactly the way that he wished. And he was completely free do be

totally himself, totally expressive, totally the man that he wished to be.

He was living in exactly the way that he and only he wished. And he would

have to conform for no one at all but to himself. Jeremy was a bit of an

eccentric and a nonconformist by nature. And he was perfectly happy with his

own life style or so he had thought. He was grateful that he could express

himself as he wished. He was a free man and did not care at all for the

judgments of others. All he wished was to show just what he thought, felt,

dreamed of, knew and believed in to others through his art. That is what

made him, for a while at least happy.

He took in a deep breath of the fresh autumn air. Though he was

in a poor neighborhood in a filthy, dingy city the air was still crisp and

seemed fresh to him as autumn air always had seemed to him. Tomorrow he

would work the stall at the market and try to sell something. Today he would

try to forget that horrid dream and maybe tonight he would do a little more

touch ups to that painting that he had been working on. Yes, maybe he would

add the lichen patch with the eyeballs to it tonight.

He walked down the street. Soon he came past his favourite pub. He

reached in to his pockets to see if he had any money left at all to work

with. He had maybe just enough for just maybe one drink. He frowned. He

should save that to buy a letter of milk later and maybe a supper meant to be

heated up in the microwave oven. Gin was not a breakfast! But still he was

uneasy and he had to calm his ratted nerves. The dream still haunted him.

He walked in to the dark pub and stepped over to the front

counter. The tender was a young man, a tad bit over weight but with a

friendly, polite smile. "What would ya be fancyin' today, mister?" He

asked.

"Oh," he pulled the money out of his pocket and placed it up on to the

counter. "straight gin… no ice, please."

"Sure thing, fella."

In moments the glass stood in front of him. He held it up in a mock

toast. "Here's to my health." He drank it down. His stomach had been

empty. He really should have bought a cheep meal rather then a glass of gin

but it was too late to change his mind on that now.

It had not been enough alcohol for him to get himself intoxicated

but it had calmed him and brightened, perked up his mood a little bit.

He walked from the pub with his hands in his pockets and began to

whistle a tune that he made up right on the spot or so he thought for it

sounded strangely familiar to him.

The air had cooled off drastically in those few minutes that he had

been in the well-heated pub. The sky was growing dark and grayish white

clouds hovered over head. The wind had picked up. Jeremy did not fear on

coming bad weather. He rather enjoyed a good electrical storm. It perked

his imagination and thrilled him somehow to see the flashes of lightning and

to hear the rumbling of the thunder, like a herd of giants trampling through

the city.

As Jeremy walked near to a public park he heard the strangest

thing. It was most certainly just the wind howling. It simply must have been

but it seemed to be a feminine voice in the wind and it was calling out a

name. And the name made Jeremy feel rather uncomfortable. "Jareth."

"Jareth…" It called. "Jaaarrreth… Jaaarrreth…"

Jeremy grabbed tight to the opened collar of his jacket and

began to quicken his pace. His rapid jogging soon turned in to a spurt of

running and his opened, long jacket flared up around his body like a cape.

A crowd of people stood in the near distance chattering all about

this and that. He would feel safe but only if he could hide among them, if

only he could just slip in to the crowd.

As he rushed towards the group a strange woman seemed to appear

out of no where. She emerged out of an alleyway and obstructed Jeremy from

making his way towards the crowd.

Jeremy paused in his steps at the sight of her. She was not at

all an unattractive woman. She was in fact really quite beautiful. She

seemed strangely familiar. Her hair was long and black. She wore a very

expensive and somewhat flamboyant gown with a large collar, much like

something the royalty of the Sixteenth century would have worn. The sleeves

of her gown flared out. She was tall and thin. Her face has a strangely

innocent. It held a child like expression to it though she was clearly built

as a woman. She was a very beautiful creature. She seemed like an angel out

of a painting that Rembrandt would have made. She could easily have been a

fairy queen painted by Brian Froud, the contemporary, surreal- fantasy

artist. Her long dark hair blew around her face. A strange humming like an

electricity was all around her. Her skin was a milky pale. She was a thin

woman. Her eyes were a strange mismatched blue, rather like his own. Her

left eye was slightly over dilated and the other seemed a lighter colour blue

then the other. She smiled at him.

Jeremy stepped back. He did not trust this strange woman. And

somehow he knew it. He could just feel it. She was not human.

"Who… who are you?" He asked in an exasperated tone.

"You have had your fun but now it is time to be on your way,

Jareth."

Jeremy took another step backward and nearly knocked over a

rubbish bin. He shook his head and held his hands out in front of him as if

he would try to ward the strange and beautiful woman off and away from him.

"You must be mistaken. My name is Jeremy ki-" Before he could finish his

statement the woman interrupted him.

"I know very well who you are as surely as a part of you still knows

who I am. Jareth, I am your younger sister, Christine. And now it's time

that we really should be going."

She reached out and took his hand. Her grip was remarkably strong

and held fast and tight to Jeremy's hand. It was tight as a steal clamp.

"But I can only take you if you are willing to go back there." She said.

Jeremy pulled away from her frantically and stumbled back when he

realized that she had deliberately let his hand go.

"Go where?" He asked.

"Why, back to The Underground of course."

"The Underground?" Why did that sound so familiar? He did not

know why but he felt ill and was afraid. He shook his head frantically.

"No. No! I don't want to go back there. No!" Why was he saying this as if

he knew what The Underground was when he did not really? All he really knew

was that he was frightened and that he was fighting as if instinctively for a

purpose. He had to rebel against it. That was all that he really knew for

certain. He simply had to rebel.

"All right." Said the strange woman. "I shall return in a few

days to see if you still feel that way. The rules clearly state that I

cannot bring you back unless you are willing to come back."

"Rules?" Jeremy was terribly confused at this point.

The woman folded her arms as sighed without an explanation.

She dissolved in to the very air itself. She seemed one moment like a solid

being but then she had been like a translucent specter. And finally she

became a vaporous mist that seemed to disperse in to tiny particles in the

wind to be carried off to Heaven only knows where.

Jeremy reached out to touch where she had been standing and found

that he was only grasping at the icy air.

"My God..." He said. "My God. My God. My God!"

Jeremy tried to think clearly but his thoughts were fogged.

What did this all mean? He thought that he must have been losing his mind.

Do the insane actually known when they are going insane? And are spiraling

descents in to madness usually so frightening?

A café only about half a kilometer away was managed by a close

friend of his. Perhaps this was in fact Jeremy's only true friend that he

could name on Earth. He had to talk to someone. He just hoped that Steve

would be there. Steve was almost always there when Jeremy had needed someone

to talk to. It was as if Steve could sense when he was needed for the sake

of his companionship to Jeremy. It was an extremely rare occasion indeed

that Jeremy would find that Steve would be unavailable to simply chat with

him about most anything.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 3 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:27:56 EST

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When he reached the café an icy rain had begun to fall and the sun

had already set from behind the clouds.

Steve was just closing up the café for the evening but as he usually

would he let Jeremy in.

"Hello, Jerry." Said the fourty something year old, somewhat

gaunt man with a smile.

"Good evening, Steve." Said Jeremy as he walked over to a table

an sat down. He looked around as if fearful that the strange woman would

appear once again and haunt him.

"Can I get you something? You look exhausted."

"Yes, a bowl of soup, please."

"Sure thing. I have a pot of vegetable soup on the back

burner of the stove right now in the kitchen."

It had always seemed remarkable to Jeremy that it just so happened

that whatever he happened to fancy on having to eat or drink it seemed that

it was all ready and prepared just for him by Steve. It was as if Steve

could see in to his very thoughts and knew just what his needs were before

even he did. It seemed that by some divine knowledge and power he could have

it for him within a few moments of Jeremy's just asking for it.

Steve walked away and returned in a few moments with a ceramic

mug filled with soup with a teaspoon sitting in the cup. He placed it down

in front of Jeremy. Jeremy took the mug in hand and began to stir the soup.

It was a nervous habit for him that he had to keep his hands continuously

active and so he played with the tiny silver spoon. It felt good, the warmth

of the cup in his hands.

"What's the matter, man? You look as if you've just seen your

dead grandmother walk through your house rattlin' chains."

"I… I don't know." Said Jeremy. He placed down the cup and

ran his fingers through his bangs from underneath. This was yet another

nervous habit of his. "You have studied psychology, folklore, magick and

psychic abilities, have you not, Steve?"

"Of course. Do you forget that I am a research librarian for The

Society for Physical Research? It's almost mandatory to know about all

that." He leaned forward and looked in to Jeremy's eyes. He could

distinctly see the fear and the tension within them.

"Just what is this all about, Jerry?" He asked seriously.

"I need you to do me a small favour." Jeremy looked at him tensely

a moment as he leaned forward. His voice was quiet and serious. "Have you

ever heard about a realm... not of Earth but some other reality known as… The

Underground?"

"The Underground?" Steve cracked a slight smile and repressed a

chuckle. "Have you been inhaling too much paint there again, Jerry?"

"I'm being perfectly serious. I have to know about it." Jeremy

said sharply as if he were a king demanding something of a peasant subject.

"Well, that's a little peculiar even for you there, Jerry. The

only thing I can think of is… in old folk tales the fair folk, feay,

leprechauns, elves, trolls and what not all lived in tunnels that ran under

the ground but some say these tunnels were just gateways in to another

reality that was really their home. And this other reality- this world was

so called do to the only mortal ways of getting there without magick- The

Underground. It's supposed to be some sort of magical reality fed by human

imagination like a Fantasia, a Wonderland, Oz. You know- things like that.

Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly. But what about... goblins?"

"Goblins?" Steve looked at Jeremy strangely as if he had just

grown a second head.

"Yes," He nodded. "that's right. Goblins."

'Well, I suppose. Yeah, there are some stories that when

something unwanted, even a newborn child is wished away it's rushed off to

The Underground by these goblins. But that goes right up there along with

The boogie man and trolls living under bridges to just wait and gobble you up

as your minding to your own business and passing along your merry way."

Jeremy laughed uneasily. Then he grew tense again. "I need you to

find information for me. I need to know all I can about The Underground and

goblins."

"Sure thing but what is this all really about, Jerry? You're still

having those dreams?"

Jeremy decided it best not to tell him about the strange woman

that he had seen or of the change that he had seen in his own reflection in

the mirror earlier that day. He only nodded.

"I'll get right on it then for you."

"Oh, and one more thing…"

"Yes?"

"The name Jareth. Does that sound at all familiar to you? Does

it mean anything at all?"

"Jareth?" His countenance was blank of all emotion.

Jeremy nodded. "Yes."

"Well, that certainly isn't at all a too common name. I can tell

you that much for sure. It's old. Celtic, I would think it is. I have

heard the name Gareth said once or twice but never really Jareth. I'll see

what I can find. Should I cross reference that with goblins or is this

something completely separate and beside all that?"

"No, I think you should cross reference it with goblins. I think

that it all might connect with my strange dreams that I have been having."

"Do you need this information urgently?"

"Yes, rather."

"I'll get right on it for you then. I cannot really do much

tonight. And tomorrow I have to stay here all day. The staff have off.

But Thursday I don't think I'll be so very busy. Come back on Friday. I'll

see what I can dig up for you. I'll have whatever information I can get for

you on it for you then."

"Thank you."

Jeremy finished his soup. It had been his first and only real meal

that whole day long. He was still a little hungry but not as famished as he

had been upon entering in to his friend's café.

He walked back home in the cool rain.

Jeremy dreamt about those creatures again that night. The filthy,

wretched beasts were laughing at him, shrill and ear splitting cackles. When

he woke up Jeremy would almost swear that he still heard their malicious

laughter echoing not just within his mind but in his ears as if they had been

prancing about, near to his very bed.

He worked his stall of paintings all of that day at the indoor

flea market.

A handsome and well dressed young man named William came by around

noon time and bought one of Jeremy's larger paintings for twice what it was

worth much to the pleasure and good fortune of it's creator, Jeremy. As the

boy walked away he asked Jeremy the oddest question. "Is that really all you

paint?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jeremy did not understand the boy's question.

He had not realized that he had a particular way of painting just one thing.

He had always thought of his drawings and paintings as being all very unique

and diverse.

"Well, these are all scenes and creatures of The Underground."

The boy had walked away with the picture, one of a strange

masquerade ball with sinister masqueraders surrounding a couple that had

their faces were turned away from sight.

Jeremy looked around the cramped little stall. The boy was right.

Most of these pictures were of that place in his dreams. They were all of

The Underground. The giant maze was in one, The Labyrinth with the sun in

the sky. Some sketches that hung in frames with Jeremy's name scribbled in

the corner looked a great deal like goblin illustrations. There were

paintings of peaches and of dwarfs. There were faded nightscape scenes done

in oils and pastels of a crystal blue moon shining down on a white castle on

a hill. There were watercolour scenes of a disordered and chaotic little

city. And there were many strange and exotic, unearthly creatures in all of

these pictures scattered all about.

"My God, it is The Underground, isn't it?" Jeremy said to himself

before closing up the stall for the evening.

The colour had rushed from Jeremy's cheeks at that small revelation

of his own apparent subconscious obsession with The Underground. He felt ill

at the mentioning of that place again. For dinner, due to the gradual

development of his stomach ulcers in to a disorder that Jeremy could only

assume to be colitis he drank down a small bottle of Pepto-Bismol- stomach

coating and relaxant.

On Thursday morning Jeremy paid his rent right on time to Mrs. Hayes.

Thursday night Jeremy finished the painting that he had been working

on finally. He could not sleep all that night. He felt restless. Something

was missing in his life. Something was wrong. He felt lost and lonely. And

he began to think about The Underground with a strange longing rather then

apprehension and fear. Wouldn't it be grand if he could live forever? Of

course all of life was made up of moments, moments spanning on for eternity

like a string of pearls. The past is gone forever and the future might never

come. And each moment, which is really all that any creature really has, is

fleeting. And it must be cherished for that moment in being all that anyone

has is truly forever. It is only forever. It is not long at all.

Jeremy looked at the chaos and disorder of his home, the loft. No

one could possibly blame him if he just up and walked away from it all, his

life. No, not really anyway. He was so used to rejection and he could not

recall ever really being loved at all to tell the truth. Of course Jeremy

could not remember very much at all really. He just then had a shocking

revelation.

He could not remember anything beyond a year ago when he had

first come to this city, intent upon being an artist. He could not remember

his family, his past, or his education. He could not remember his childhood

or his adolescence at all. Could that strange creature, that woman,

Christine have really been his sister?

Suddenly he felt very lost and very alone and also very confused.

Why couldn't he just live an easy life? Why did it have to be

complicated by these strange feelings? And now the confusion and frustration

of having no real past at all finally struck Jeremy. He knew that his name

was Jeremy and he knew that he was creative. And yet he knew that he loved

being the scrubby little artist that he was. It made him happy. It was his

passion. He could create his art and express himself and never really have

to submit himself to a socially conforming life style. And yet… And yet

something was missing. He longed for this strange world as frightening and

as disturbing as his dreams had been. He ached for The Underground. It was

a surreal, peaceful, and magical place. And it must have been lovely. A

strange new world with a crystal blue moon shinning down over a great and

mystical Labyrinth.

Friday morning Jeremy practically ran all the way to the café to

meet with Steve. He looked haggard. He had not slept all that night before.

When he reached the café he saw that there were no customers around

at all. He was glad of this. There would be nothing to distract him from

talking with his old friend. As he tried to catch his breath in the

doorframe Steve stepped over to him with a yellow folder filled with papers

in his hand.

"Did you find out anything at all about any of it?" Asked Jeremy.

"I think that you and I should have a little chat." Steve closed

up the café and lead Jeremy in to a back room. The two sat down together at

a small table with fold out iron chairs.

"I did a lot of research yesterday and came up with a few

interesting little things."

"Yes? Such as?"

"Well, The Underground is said to be the realm of the goblins.

But that part I already thought so about. And I could not find very much on

the name Jareth at all but that it is Old Celtic as I had first thought that

it was. It means one born of royal blood but with flaws or problems of the

genitalia."

Jeremy winced at this as if somehow this was a personal blow to him.

"I thought that was about all that I could find but then I came

across this." He held in his hand a thin red book with gold letters written

across the cover. The title on the cover seemed to stab at Jeremy. In bold

gold letters was "The Labyrinth"

"What does it all mean?" asked Jeremy. His knees were shaking.

He was grateful that he was sitting down for he felt that had he been

standing he just might have collapsed.

"It is a children's story. It's about a young girl who must

rescue her half brother when she accidentally wishes him away to The

Underground. The Goblin King was in love with her and allowed her to

retrieve her brother but only under the condition that he would return her

half brother to her if she could solve The great Labyrinth that surrounded

his castle just beyond The Goblin City."

Jeremy looked at him blankly. He felt the hair on the back of

his arms stand on end. It was as if he had known that story all along but

just had not allowed himself to remember it.

Now it was Steve's face that was tense and nervous. "The Goblin

King had a name in this story. Do you know what his name was, Jerry?"

Jeremy shook his head. "No." Beads of seat formed on his

face. He could not stop the trembling of his hands.

"His name was Jareth."

Jeremy could not prevent the shaking stutter that now came to

his voice. His knees were trembling. "Is… is that all?" For some reason he

wanted to get away from there as quickly as possible.

"There's also this. I found this illustration in a children's

story book." Steve held out a black and white photocopy of a book

illustration. The illustration was of a man with long, feathered and spiked

light hair. His eyes were distinctly unique. His face looked a great deal

like Jeremy's. He wore tight pants, a dark, long sleeved shirt and a cape

that swirled around him. He stood surrounded by those strange and horrid

creatures of Jeremy's nightmares. The man in the book illustration was the

man that he had seen in the mirror standing in the place of his own

reflection. It was Jareth, The Goblin King.

"The resemblance is remarkable. Is there something you should tell

me, Jerry?" asked Steve.

A loud thud was heard. Jeremy's chair had tipped back. The room

had gone dark after a moment of nauseous dizziness. Jeremy had fainted.

An icy splash of water hit him in the face. Jeremy coughed as

Steve helped him to his feet.

"Cor, that was something else. I never saw you do anything like

that before. You okay, man?" Steve asked.

"Yes… I... I think so. I have to go for a walk. I need to…

clear my head…"

"Sure. Sure. I'll walk you to the door."

Jeremy looked as if he were going to be ill very soon. Steve helped

him along to the door as if Jeremy were too weak to stand on his own.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" asked Steve.

"Yes. Yes, I think so." Jeremy walked out the door "Good bye,

Steve."

The door shut behind him as he left.

Steve grinned and said to no one. "I'll be seein' ya, Jareth."

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 4 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:28:12 EST

--------

The woman that had appeared to Jareth before now stood behind the

man who called himself Steve. In an instant the image of Steve melted away

to reveal a handsome man with long black hair and powerful, fierce eyes. He

wore tight black, leather pants and a gray shirt with a large, triangular

gold collar that was folded down. He could sense that Christine stood behind

him.

"Do, you think he's ready to return?" asked Christine.

"I think that he'll lose his mind if he doesn't return soon."

He said as he turned to his wife. "He's your brother. Why did I have to be

involved in all of this?"

"Because you know you care about him."

Princess Christine kissed her husband. "Tomorrow. I think

he'll be ready tomorrow."

Jeremy wandered the streets for hours that night. His head was

swimming. This was madness! It couldn't possibly be… Could it?

Christine appeared before him again. "Are you ready to return home

now?"

Jeremy looked at her curiously. "Why can't I remember? I know…

I know who I am now. Why can't I remember?"

"You've been away from The Underground for far too long. You

forget, your powers fade, you become mortal. But you would gain it all back,

your memories, your power if you would return. But I cannot forcefully take

you. You must be willing to come of your own free will." She held out her

hand. "Are you willing to return?"

"Tomorrow. I will have an answer for you by tomorrow night after

my gig. Come to the show tomorrow night. You must have been following me.

Surely you know where the nightclub is where I usually perform on weekends."

She nodded. "Tomorrow then." She faded off in to oblivion.

Jeremy sighed. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…"

Jeremy returned to his loft and dialed out over the telephone to

one of the members of the house band that performed at the nightclub, the

band that he was the lead vocalist for.

"I have a new idea for a song. Do you think we can try to perform it

tomorrow night if I give you and the boys each a copy of the song written out

for you by tomorrow morning?"

The group, though not very well known, was a talented little band.

And they could pick up on a song as quick as a flash. There did not seem to

be a problem with the idea of the band performing Jeremy's new song. Jeremy

went to work writing out the lyrics for he already had an idea for the tone

and rhythm in his mind for what the song should sound like.

And he wrote to the melody that he already knew, that old familiar

tune that then he began to whistle.

In the small back room of the café Christine held in her hand a

tiny crystal orb. She hated that her powers were so very limited while there

on Earth. She needed to periodically return to The Underground so that she

would not begin to forget and so that her own powers would not diminish to

the point of rendering her mortal. She watched the image of her brother as

the mortal Jeremy was writing feverishly on lined note pad paper the words to

a song.

Christine placed the crystal orb down on a shelf and let it

just sit there with the image of her brother still within it so that she

could keep a constant and continual vigil on him.

"What if he does not want to come back?" She asked sadly to her

husband.

"Of course he would. He already knows that this life of his is a

lie, just another illusion. He cannot run from what he is, not forever

anyway."

Christine could not help but to smile ever so slightly. She

remembered something that she had plucked right out of her brother's thoughts

just the other night. "It's only forever. It's not long at all."

She then frowned. "…But he seemed so… contented being this

mortal artist." She said with a sigh. "I wish we didn't have to disturb his

fantasy like this."

"He has to return, Christine. You know this. He's needed in The

Underground. He's The Goblin King. Everything is in total chaos there

without him. He knows his responsibilities. And he will eventually die here

as a human man if he does not return there. He'll return. He has to return."

"But he seemed so happy…"

"Chris, he'll never be really happy. As Jeremy he thinks he

wants The Underground. As Jareth he thinks he wants Earth. He always has

to want after something. It is in his nature to be that way. He always has

to have a reason, a desire to explain away the emptiness that is always

inside of him. I think he actually needs for something to want after."

"What do you mean that he needs to want after something?"

"Alexander The great wept when there were no more worlds to

conquer. I think Jareth always desires something to keep himself alive, to

keep his mind occupied and to keep from dying of utter boredom. He needs

something to desire because he does not really know just what he needs to

fulfill his life. And maybe he does not want fulfillment at all really.

Maybe he needs to always want something just so he has something to strive

for. It's his curse, the curse of his own restlessness."

Christine looked away and at the small crystal sphere upon the

shelf. "I suppose you're right. He's my brother, I should know this. But

damn it, why can't he just be happy? What is he really missing in life?"

Christine as well as her husband both really knew what the answer

to this was.

That Saturday night as Jeremy climbed up on to the stage he noticed

that strange woman who called herself Christine stood in the crowd with a

rather peculiar young man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 5 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:28:30 EST

--------

The song began with the saxophone, keyboard and a steady drumbeat

from the band. They had spent the day memorizing it.

Jeremy grabbed up the hand held microphone off of the stand

and began to sway his hips in time to the music as he prepared to sing. He

did not need magick to have a fantastic voice.

He looked down at the floor of the stage and then he looked

directly and intently at the audience or at least those in the crowd who were

paying some mind to him. It was not a large audience but it was an audience

nonetheless and one face in particular in that audience he could not take his

eyes from.

He could feel the tension in the air. It was marvelous. It felt like

a kind of magick to him and he loved this, knowing that this would be his

last performance.

With a graceful thrust he made a slight turn.

A quick rhythmic beat opened the song.

He moved with the music as if it had entranced him and in a way it

had. He felt his head swimming from the energy and momentum of it all. It

seemed that this moment was more potent then any that he had ever known or at

least could remember. He raised his hands above his head and clapped to the

beat for a moment.

He spun around once on the tips of his shoes and then he began to

sway his hips in precision to the music. In private this would have looked

actually quite ridiculous but on stage it seemed to be fantastic.

The different aspects to the music vibrated the stage and swam

together forming a great melody out of several countless sounds that swirled

and mixed together like the ingredients of a great stew of noises. It was a

spinning of swirled and mingled colour forming a fantastic and beautiful

image, a painting of sound. And it was art and he loved it because it was

art.

He stepped forward about five steps and then moved full circle,

turning in circles for a moment or two.

He knew the steps to his own dance moves by heart. He honestly did

not really need to see his legs at all. Most good dances did not really need

to look down at all when dancing any way; they just let the rhythm take them

as he was doing just then.

He looked intensely at the crowd. He had a purpose for doing this.

He only really wanted to be happy and oddly enough at that moment he was.

He looked at the blurred and vague faces from beyond the stage. They were

his audience and they were here to see him but he was singing to one in

particular that he knew would be in that crowd.

He refused to acknowledge his own fear. What fear? Fear was

his enemy just then. It had always been his greatest enemy.

It came suddenly, that magical moment when the music, the singer

and the audience all melded together as one. And this was the only time ever

that he had ever truly ever felt connected to anything other then to himself

and though he knew he had to and that he did not really belong here he did

not want to throw it away. He was connected to them. I was connected to

that crowd. He had never felt anything like it before. It was fantastic.

That was the whole point to his creating art in any form, to connect to

others. He had to express himself. He had to make others feel and he wanted

to be understood. And in making others feel and think and understand that was

his fulfillment, that was his greatest happiness, perhaps the only real

happiness that he had ever really known.

At a precise note he sang after a stretched note.

If he made just one mistake the whole world, it seemed would

have heard it.

Well, it was too late to turn back now. His song had already

begun.

Everyone seemed to love it when he finally spoke up the opening

lyrics.

The music had seemed like it had long ago come in yet it had only

been a few seconds. It was loud and thundered as it echoed through the room.

It was loud. It was pure and it was raw. He loved it. It was the

greatest thrill of his life. This was beyond anything else. This was real.

This was beyond anything that he had ever known. This was fantastic.

He made a few graceful dance moves to the music as it rushed. A

stretched step here, and there. It was difficult because it was a small stage

but it was workable.

He made a graceful turn with his microphone in his hand. He became

one with the music itself, that it was so pure. He waited for the moment,

the exact moment to start singing.

So enthralled he was by the sound and feel of it all that he was

afraid that he had forgotten it but now he had remained focussed enough.

Then the moment came. It was precise and enchanting moment when

the music and the poetry became one and the song Underground was borne.

"No one can blame you

For walking away

But too much rejection,

No love injection, no,"

Oh, it was absolute bliss for him just then. He had performed before

but he had never paid any mind to the personal significance of it all before.

Perhaps that was because as Jeremy King, without the knowledge of Jareth,

The Goblin King he had taken it all for granted.

It was as if he had achieved a state of nirvana in this, that he

had become one with everything in enlightenment and physical and mental

perfection. It was totally fabulous. It was absolutely amazing for him. He

seemed actually contented, and that was the magic of it all, the great and

powerful illusion. And this was so utterly perfect and yet no one knew what

it exactly was that achieved this splendid moment fixed forever, at least for

him at any rate, in time.

The whole mortal world seemed to have heard him and now they fell

in to the music with him as he was the whole world. He and the audience came

together. They were one in the sound and vision, in the song.

Now he let the music move him in time to the song so that his

whole form turned and folded as if yielding to a distant signal, forcing him

to dance with as much grace and beauty as any creature possibly could. The

music entranced and enthralled him as well as the crowd and without any

reason but to be the actual music he danced.

He let the strength and the passion of the song carry him as he

swayed his hips in time to the music.

His voice was heard through the building loud and clear. Enhanced

and loud, it bounced as it vibrated off of the walls and then it smacked

everyone simultaneously across the face like a large hand, painted purple for

the sake of emotion, screaming, needing to be known and understood. Oh, it

was glorious.

His voice echoed through the room. No sound had ever seemed so

loud at that moment. His own voice hurt his ears for a moment before he

allowed himself to adapt to it's strange and amplified sound.. He had wanted

it that all of the audience would hear the same thing, his own voice rising

above all else. It was alien to him, the way that his own voice sounded,

raised in volume over speakers.

"Life can be easy,

It's not always swell,

Don't tell me truth hurts, little girl

'Cause it hurts like Hell,

But down in The Underground

You'll find someone true,

Down in The Underground

A land serene,

A crystal moon, ah, ah,

It's only forever,

Not long at all,

The lost and the lonely,

That's Underground,

Underground…

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,

I, I'm Underground,

Heard about a place today

Where nothing never hurts again,

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,

I, I'm Underground,

Sister, sister, please take me down,

I, I'm Underground

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,"

A mall musical interlude followed, mainly by saxophone. Now he let

the music move him in time to the song so that his whole form turned and

folded as if yielding to a distant signal, forcing him to dance with as much

grace and beauty as any creature possibly could. The music entranced and

enthralled him as well as the crowd and without any reason but to be the

actual music he danced.

He let the strength and the passion of the song carry him.

He knew the steps to his own dance moves by heart. He honestly

did not really need to see his legs at all. Most good dances did not really

need to look down at all when dancing any way; they just let the rhythm take

them as he was doing just then.

He had the greatest singing voice that this world had ever

known and would ever know. It was a shame that he could not stay and pretend

to be Jeremy King for just a little while longer.

He was proud of this. He knew it. He was not human after though at

the moment that is precisely what he was physically that is not at all what

he really was.

Some seemed to fear him in that crowd. They loved him. If he

would keep this up for just... just a little while longer then they ALL would

do as he would say. He could conquer the universe like this, with gaining

their admiration. But at that particular moment he was their slave. They

could have anything they wanted from him. He had total control and power

over them, that spell bound audience and he loved it.

His voice was the greatest thing they had ever heard. Women would

swoon at the sound of it and men longed to dance to it.

"No one can blame you

For walking away

But too much rejection,

No love injection, no,

But down in The Underground

You'll find someone true,

Down in The Underground,

A land, serene,

A crystal moon, ah, ah,

It's only-

It's only forever,

It's not long at all,

The lost and the lonely,

That's Underground,

Underground…

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,

Heard about a place today,

Nothing never hurts again,

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,

I'm, I'm Underground,

Sister, sister, please take me down,

I'm, I'm Underground,

Daddy, daddy, get me out…

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Daddy, daddy, get me out of here,

I'm, I'm Underground,

Sister, sister, please take me down,

I'm, I'm Underground,

I, I'm Underground,

I, I'm Underground,

Daddy, daddy, get me,

Daddy, daddy, get me,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Wanna live Underground,

Sister, sister, take me down,

Sister, sister, take me down,"

The song faded out and Jeremy walked off of the stage.

Christine looked to her husband. He smiled at her. "Think that

means he's ready to go."

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Wanna live Underground (Revised) Part 6 of 6

From:

Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 20:28:49 EST

--------

In the back alley of the nightclub he stood waiting for her. He

knew that she would come. He knew that she had heard the song. His hands

were in his pockets. She and the young man, her husband stepped up behind

him after only a minute.

He could feel them watching him. He did not bother to turn around

once he knew that they were there.

"Are you ready to go?" Asked Christine.

He only nodded. He turned and looked at her. He peered deep in to

her eyes. "Am I happy there?" He asked like a child that was nervous about

being sent off to lessons for the very first time.

She did not answer and was forced to avert her eyes from him.

He husband spoke up. "You're needed there."

"But AM I happy?" He asked again.

Neither one of them could answer this honestly.

He sighed deeply. "I thought as much." He took in a deep

breath. "…I'm ready."

In an instant they stood in the throne room of the castle at the

center of The Labyrinth. And he remembered who and what he was.

He checked himself. He was dressed as himself again, in a tight

gray leggings, healed leather boots that nearly went up to his knees, an

opened white shirt. His long light blond hair hung loosely over his

shoulders. It felt strange to him. He shook out his hair. It felt strange

to feel it against his neck and running down towards the small of his back

again. He could feel it even under the shirt.

He took in a breath of air. He felt light. The energy rushed

through him. He could almost taste the magick. He held out his gloved hand

and a crystal orb appeared in a swirl of a white mist.

He placed down the crystal and leaned against the wall. Several

goblins stared at him. Only some, the more intelligent of them, vaguely

recognized him to be their master. They would remember soon enough. He

would make them remember.

He smiled despite himself as he remembered the year long holiday, the

first he had ever taken on Earth, the year that he was free, the year that he

had completely forgotten himself. He wished that he had cherished each

moment more dearly and had not taken anything of it for granted.

"It was a nice holiday." He said simply to Christine who stood

in front of him.

"You enjoyed yourself then?"

"Of course I did."

She looked baffled. "I don't understand you. You were a

struggling artist, very nearly starving and you were a restless dreamer and

you were-" She shuddered at the thought of it, him being that way. "-humble.

and yet you say you enjoyed it?"

"Yes."

She sighed and shook her head. "I have to go see my son,

William. He has proposed to the gypsy girl, Starlet."

Jareth nodded and made a careless waving gesture as if

dismissing a servant. She disappeared.

For a moment longer her husband stood in the throne room with

Jareth. Jareth realized instantly that his brother in law had not left with

his wife.

"What? What is it?"

"You are discontented as The Goblin King and as one of them you

long for The Underground."

"No, but that's where you're wrong. I know that I am needed

here and I forget why I had wanted to be there. I am needed here. I know

that. I also know that I had actually enjoyed the petty problems and quirks

of being a mortal artist."

He shut his eyes. Jareth tried to take in a moment's release. He

fancied for a moment, using that short-lived life that he was a fairly

typical mortal man standing on Earth. He imagined that he was in the old

loft apartment. He was, in this vision, surrounded not by his moronic

goblins but again by colourful, opened jars, bottles and cans of fresh

paints, fine tipped pens, coloured markers and other various arts supplies.

For a moment he merely pretended that he was not the frustrated master of an

alternate reality that was doomed to ruin but simply a human artist who had

dreamed up this nightmarish Hellhole. And being that simple, human artist in

the modern human world he would soon awaken to find his latest piece, a

painting of this very Labyrinth and his castle in the center of it on sale.

He fancied that somehow, still with the powers and mind of The Goblin king he

could live there and would never feel out of place again.

He sighed, loving that fantasy.

Well, he finally decided right then and there to accept the futile,

hopelessness of his own position. His fate had been sealed long before he

ever could have a say in the matter. He would keep his secret desires to

himself. No one must ever know of his own secret yearnings. Not a soul

should ever know that the one who can offer mortals their dreams has dreams

of his very own that must forever remain unfulfilled and unknown by any.

For a long moment he held the image of the loft in his head. He

would surely forget it as easily as he forgot his own position as The Goblin

King. He held it to himself desperately. He held tight to it, refusing to

let go of it for the sake of his own world.

Collin, as was the name of his brother in law, spoke up. "You don't

have to let it go."

"I'm needed here." was his reply to that.

"Yes, I know." He said with a strangely knowing smile.

Jareth looked at him curiously.

Two months later Jeremy king finished up performing that song

Underground again at the nightclub. The crowd had loved it. He smiled to

himself. Half a day in The Underground, half on Earth, that is how he had

been spending his time now.

It was just after a show that a pretty woman in the audience stepped

up to him.

"You were fantastic." She said.

"Why, thank you."

Beside her was a small girl with straight brown hair. "I am Linda

Williams and this is my daughter, Sarah." She gestured to the child.

"It's a pleasure."

(And Dear Reader we do know what story follows after this one, now don't we?)

The End


End file.
